


it's a mental breakdown *kazoo noises*

by kbaycolt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beelzebub is tired of her batshit kids, Crowley being a little shit, Hastur's a disaster but we love him, Hastur-centric, Humor, Sentient Plants, Slight mention of Ligur, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:58:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt
Summary: Hastur hates Crowley, sure, because he's an insolent bastard who has no idea what true evil is and insists on torturing them all with lengthy powerpoint presentations (but that's what Hell is all about, right?).But Hastur has never feared Crowley.Bathing in holy water /is/ a cause for concern, though.





	it's a mental breakdown *kazoo noises*

There have been few times in Hastur's very long life in which he has felt real fear.

His Fall, for one. Pure, unbridled terror and agony as he plummeted through the air, his wings aflame and his grace ripped away from him quite abruptly. He plunged into a lake of boiling sulphur and burned with his siblings, feeling everything holy about him being stripped away.

That should've been the end of it.

It wasn't.

Thousands of years later, he stood in Crowley's flat and gawked at Ligur's melted remains, horror striking him to his very core. Perhaps it wasn't fear, but it was certainly close.

Demons discorporate each other all the time.

Demons don't destroy each other.

Then Crowley was pointing the fucking spray bottle at him and Hastur really wasn't getting paid enough for this, goddamn. He'd been quite sure he was about to die in that moment.

But a single droplet of water hit Crowley's finger and Hastur knew he was bluffing.

Or was he?

Hastur was there at Crowley's trial when he hopped right into the tub filled with holy water and started flicking it at the demons behind the screen, perfectly fine and completely non-destroyed. Crowley gave him a stare that held all the cruelty and cold amusement of a demon and Hastur had promptly broke down into hysterics the moment that Crowley was gone.

"He pointed it right at me!" Hastur shrieked, waving his hands around frantically. Beelzebub sighed and rubbed her temples. " _Right_ at me! I could've died! Gone just like Ligur!"

"That izzn't the biggest issue right now," Beelzebub said tiredly, having put up with his rambling for the past thirty minutes.

"I thought he was bluffing! I thought he was fucking bluffing!"

"Hastur."

"Fucking holy water pointed right at me!"

"Hazztur."

"What if he'd sprayed it? What if-?!

" _Hazzzztur_."

"WHAT?!" he screeched, his stare snapping to a quite-exasperated Beelzebub.

"If it'zz bothering you that much, why don't you go azzk him?" Beelzebub suggested. She gave him a pointed look.

Ask him. Ask Crowley. The demon who'd pointed holy water at Hastur. The thought of seeing him face-to-face almost made Hastur break down again, but at Beelzebub's borderline threatening glare, he held himself together and went to the surface.

* * *

Crowley leaned back in his throne, sighing. It had been two weeks since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, and it seemed like their body swap trick worked. Heaven had contacted Aziraphale only once, with a formal apology that was more of a kiss-ass move than a genuine I'm Sorry, but Aziraphale wasn't complaining.

On the other hand, Hell had steered clear of Crowley ever since. He unfortunately didn't get to see their reactions firsthand, but he was sure they were scared so thoroughly they'd never so much as mention him again.

Exactly the way he liked it.

Sadly, his tranquil Sunday morning was interrupted by the arrival of a very nervous and very meek Hastur.

"Oh, what the he—heav—what do you want?" Crowley groaned, setting down his plant mister. He was just about to water his plants and go through his daily shouting session, but the demon standing in the hallway was preventing him from doing it. "Come around to annoy me for the millionth time? Need I remind you what happened last time?"

He pointed at the spot on the floor where he'd drenched Ligur, which was covered in a carpet because it still reeked of holiness and burned to walk on.

Hastur actually did a full-body flinch and stepped back.

That's new.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Crowley asked, now more curious than irritated. He tapped the plant mister to make sure it wasn't clogged, then sprayed it a few times on the nearest plant.

Hastur yelped.

Crowley blinked.

"Y-You still have it," Hastur stammered. He gestured anxiously at the mister.

"Of course I still have it, how else would I water my plants?"

"B-But—" Hastur cut himself off. He inched to the side, regarding Crowley's mister with the same sort of wariness that one would attribute to a starving lion that had just broken free of its cage.

A hosta bush rustled, brushing Hastur and making him flinch.

Realization struck Crowley. Hastur thought that the mister was full of holy water. He'd assumed Crowley was bluffing before, but after the trial, he wasn't sure. The knowledge made Crowley want to collapse into a fit of frenzied laughter, but he just lets an evil smile find its way onto his face.

"What's wrong?" Crowley asked innocently, spraying a puff of mist into the air. Hastur's back hit the wall. "It's just a bit of water."

The plants trembled with amusement. If they could laugh, they would.

"Water??" Hastur choked out.

"You know, I'm feeling rather parched." Carefully watching Hastur's expression shift, Crowley unscrewed the top and took a swig of the water, comfortable knowing that he washed it this morning.

Hastur made a strangled noise.

Crowley licked his lips slowly, deliberately. He held it out for the demon—Hastur tripped over himself trying to scramble away—and grinned. "Thirsty?"

To finish it off, Crowley screwed the top back on and sprayed the water directly at Hastur.

Hastur let out a scream and bolted in the other direction, cursing and swearing as he collided with Crowley's throne and staggered on, muttering obscenities until the door resolutely slammed after him.

Waiting for the demon to flee the premises completely, Crowley listened intently, and when he was sure Hastur was gone, he started laughing, leaning against the wall for support. The plants shook, chuckling along with him in the only way they were able to. He set the plant mister on the floor and tried to control himself.

"Did you see his face?" Crowley wheezed, bracing his hands on his knees. "He bloody pissed himself! Ran home so he can cry at Beelzebub's feet, I bet."

The perennial nearest to him trembled a bit.

"You're right, I have to tell Aziraphale immediately."

The plants went still once he was gone, grateful to Hastur that his batshit display had spared them from Crowley's wrath.

If they could sigh in relief, they would.


End file.
